The Fundraiser
by LittleBounce
Summary: Nick has chosen the wrong day to be sick. Rosalee's been busting a gut to get enough money to build the wesen wellness centre, and there's no way Monroe's going to let the star attraction flake out on them...
1. Chapter 1

**Just summat silly, really... usual disclaimer, I do not own any of Grimm's characters, which is a crying shame. This is a planned part 1 of 2. Or maybe three. Depends on how long the queue of awkward wesen gets in the next chapter, and how Hilde the Nilpherdine behaves.**

More than anything else, it was like a vicious hangover without the alcohol, which seemed monumentally unfair. Nick ached everywhere. His throat felt blocked, his eyes burned and coughing was little less than periodical torture: the equivalent of being tied up every ten minutes and kicked witless by a sadist with a passion for interval training. He gripped the edge of the sofa until the last splutters had died away and his head stopped ringing.

His head didn't stop ringing. And neither did the doorbell. He eased himself to his feet and trudged over to answer it because clearly nothing short of the sight of his dead body would stop Monroe dragging him out the house today. He pulled the door open and Monroe bounded through, all sarcastic energy and blonde beard.

"Leaflets are out, crowds are in and, ideally, we're taking a tonne of money today! I've been sponsored $600 alone for the beard and Rosie's absolutely stoked. She had about 200 emails from people saying they'd come along and leave a donation, even if they weren't really going to join in with …everything. Nick, you're not dressed. Where are your clothes?"

Nick pointed resignedly at a heap on the armchair.

"No way are you wearing those! They look like a Dirkhellig's rolled over them. You have another two minutes to lie down and moan while I gather appropriate apparel."

Nick took him up on his offer and cocooned himself in his quilt, a warm and safe pit of denial. He had no idea where Monroe had gone – he expected feet running around upstairs – but all was silent. He would get it together. He would. The wellness centre was important: outside, Rosie's place would be a shiny new apothecary with homeopathic remedies, ear candles – though he couldn't really see how they were a selling point – and massage. Downstairs, she was cleaning out her brother's godawful organstock to build a field hospital for wesen whose immune systems had prevented them from keeping their human form. He'd seen the effects of Rosalee's treatments – she'd saved Wu, and Hank, and the idea that wesen sufferers knew they could come to her in medical emergency was critically important. They wanted him there. He _wanted_ to be there. He just didn't want it to be today.

Monroe took far less than the advertised two minutes to reappear, and Nick felt the big hand finding a gap in the quilt and ruffling his hair. He could've bitten it, quite frankly.

"Are you coming out, or must I unroll you by force?"

Nick climbed out of his pit, feeling like a rabid bat. At the sight of the oncoming vest, he flicked his arms up in surrender, stuck head and neck through the right holes, and succumbed to being sprayed and shirted. His jeans, he put on himself, but he needed Monroe's help for his boots as bending made him cough like a dervish.

Monroe beamed. "To the batmobile!"

Nick grabbed a can of Pepsi from the fridge for a much-needed energy boost and trailed Monroe out the door. "When did you get so….bouncy? And merciless?"

"Truth is," Monroe muttered, belting up and starting the engine, "I don't plan to look at you too closely. I mean, it's blatantly obvious you have flu , so I'm going to be merciless and bouncy, because there's no way on earth I'm taking responsibility for being the one to suggest you bow out today."

"Right. So you're on cheerleading duties."

"Something like that. But in view of the fact that Rosie doesn't actually know you're sick….. not really duties, as such, more tactics. Can you suck it up for me today, please?"

Nick smarted. Didn't he usually 'suck it up'? Jeez the guy was in a mood: usually he was ripping him a new asshole for _hiding _problems from him. Now, all of a sudden, he was being painted as the ultimate big girl's blouse. He opened the window a fraction and let some breeze in, which cooled his mood a little.

"Ok – so what do you need me to do?"

"Well, in view of the rather, ah... unique role you've played in bringing our various wesen communities together, we thought we'd go for an event that gives you a cameo role, and local donors a chance to say hi, and..."

"and….?"

"And express their welcome. And stuff."

Well, that didn't sound too much like torture. Nick closed his eyes and rested back in the shotgun seat. "Can I do whatever it is sitting down?"

"Oh yeah! It's part of the deal! In fact, we've got a special seat in just for you."

Nick had a horrible thought: expressed it: "It's not a ducking stool, is it?"

"No! What do you think we are? That'd be mean. We've gone for something nice and gentle. 'Give a Grimm a hug.'"

Nick sat bolt upright: coughing, gasping and incredulous, remembering the 200-people that Monroe had mentioned. "What? You said _'cameo',_ you hairy ass! That sounds kinda centrepiece to me!"

"Sure, you'll be popular, but there's loads of stuff going on!"

"Like what? Stroke a Siegbarste? Guess the weight of the hexenbiest –get your own free lifetime curse if you overestimate?"

Monroe's knuckles tightened on the wheel. "I think we've established that you're not feeling yourself, but you'll need to lighten up before we arrive. Rosie's put a lot of work into this and it really will be as much for you as everyone else, so….don't waste it all for her, ok?"

"Fine." Nick slumped back, hating himself for letting flu turn him into a brat. And slightly hating Monroe for making it patently obvious that he was acting like a brat. He took a deep breath, trying to welcome his more optimistic side back in (it sort of got booted out the first day the flu did its home invasion) and felt a lancing pain halfway up his ribs on his right side that made him squeeze his eyes shut and clench seat leather in his hands.

This was new. The reigning sensation up to this point had been a deep, bruising ache in his right side that kind of sat there like an unwanted houseguest until he coughed, at which point the ache developed an overstayer's conscience and leapt up to sandpaper the walls to make his chest nice and clean for new pain and interesting pains to move in. The idea of 200 hugs... he moaned quietly to himself. "I'll make it through today, but I think this might actually be a chest infection."

Monroe broke wind: deliberately, energetically... and as it transpired... thoroughly.

"Mon-roe! God!"

"Sorry, don't mind me, I'm just trying to cover up the smell of burning martyr!"

"I was just thinking about the hug element! What if there's a big group of Jagerbar?"

"Nothing wrong with a bearhug. Now quit whining, you're making me nervous."

"How about 'Give a Grimm a break'?" Nick tried to lighten the tone and just... got the pitch horribly wrong. He could see Monroe's knuckles furring over.

"I'm considering 'Give a Grimm a slap', right now..."

"How about... LEAVE A GRIMM ALONE?" Nick knew as soon as it was out of his mouth, ten times louder than he'd ever intended, that he'd hit his foot on a friendship boundary wire and the bomb was about to blow up in his face. Monroe did a handbrake turn into a sideroad and snapped the engine off, his face full of thunder. Nick had his hands up in supplication and apology before Monroe even opened his mouth, but the guy clearly had things to say.

"You really want to be left alone? You're feeling like we're high-maintenance?"

"No-" Oh shit...

"Well let's look at you – calls at unearthly hours, half-dead friends that need fixing at a moment's notice, living out of my pocket without so much as a 'good evening' before you barge in going 'so, what's a hippo wesen?' or whatever the query of the day may be, long evenings in your terrible, terrible caravan with lighting that would disappoint a hominid, let alone a normal guy... and you... you... never hang the towels up when you've finished using them!"

Nick still had his hands up and waited for Monroe to shift back. "I'm sorry about the towels."

"Screw the towels!"

"I was working backwards. Do I really not say 'good evening', ever?"

Monroe looked grudging. "You say 'hey' when you come in. But I wish you would say 'bye' before you hang up, or at least let me get to say stuff. It's very Fox Mulder to just snap the phone shut when you've said what you need to say, and I'm not Scully, right? Her busy schedule might have hardened her to half information and hang-ups, but _I_ do not want to hear 'beware the cologne-wearing Coyotl – CLICK' and find myself talking to my cell like a lemon when I might have questions to ask, like 'what type?'. Sort that out, please. It would mean a lot to me."

"Ok..." Nick summarised. "Remember towels, enter house with more ceremony, do not leave Monroe looking like a lemon."

"_Feeling_ like a lemon."

Nick's lips twitched. Monroe had reached the point where he was trying to stay mad and wasn't doing a fantastic job of it. But he apologised, sincerely. Seemed he hadn't been as gracious about his friend's help as he could've been. He hoped Rosie didn't feel the same way.

Monroe re-started the engine, confused a chevy by reversing left into the road doing forty-from-nothing, and hurtled off to the spice shop. He drove like a dervish for a few minutes, bent over the steering wheel like he was trying to negotiate tiny traffic on the bonnet rather than reasonable traffic on the road, where it belonged. Eventually, he seemed to cool off. "To tell you the truth, I need company for this beard.

"I draw the line at growing a yellow beard, however good the cause."

"No! I mean I need someone else to look as much an ass as I will."

Nick felt that this was less than noble. "It's 'just for one day', isn't it?"

"For you, yeah. Unfortunately part of my deal is that I don't get to shave it off. It's got to grow out." Monroe mumbled unhappily to himself. "I'm going to look like goddamn bee."

TBC...


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi guys – thanks for the comments! I had images of Nick being aggressively mothered and silliness ensued. I do not own Grimm or any of the characters etc etc... **

As soon as they climbed out of the car, Nick could see what Monroe had been worried about. Rosalee had .TOWN. The street outside was empty as yet (thanks for the early start, hairy man) but the amount of bunting was phenomenal. It looked like someone chose to plant the English Queen's Diamond Jubilee weekend right in the middle of the Olympics. On the doors, freshly polished and windows immaculate, were several posters in size 60 font:

REOOPENING TODAY! SPECIAL DEALS! SPECIAL ATTRACTIONS!

"Too many exclamation marks!" Monroe added, jabbing at the first-word typo and shared a despairing glance with Nick. "We have an intern. She's very motherly and vigorous, but she doesn't do... proof-reading."

Nick helped Monroe take them down, aiming for the low ones. He'd be fine if he didn't go around raising his arms. "An intern?"

"Hilde. A Nilpherdine from Bayern. I have no idea what a Nilpherdine is doing in Bayern, by the way. They're very much an African wesen and not fond of being split from their group."

"I still don't know what a Nilpherdine is."

Monroe smiled grimly. "If you haven't worked it out in five minutes without seeing her woge, I'll put it down to delirium and call 911."

Nick chuckled and followed Monroe in. "You're giving me an out _now?_"

Hilde emerged from a side room, heavily loaded. She carried a stack of beautifully shiny but heavy-looking storage bottles on a tray, a couple of pages of stickers clamped under one arm, a textbook under the other arm, pens in her teeth. Nick thought immediately of Stückpferden and muttered as much to Monroe, since they were far enough out of earshot not to appear rude.

Monroe stifled a laugh. "Packhorse? Close, but not quite. You've been slacking off your studies."

"I've been focussing on threatening creatures."

"Steal this woman's snack while she's grazing and I'll show you a threatening creature."

Nick approached slowly, not particularly wanting to reveal himself to her while she was carrying a heavy supply of glass. Once at the counter, the matronly lady spread out her armful, perched her bulk onto the swivel chair behind and banged the textbook next to the computer, wedging it upright next to the screen so she could type. She stuffed a sandwich into her mouth – which appeared to contain Ryegrass and nothing else – and then started pounding discordantly on the keyboard with two fingers like it was a thing that needed prodding to death. She totally ignored them, grabbed a handful of peanuts, kept typing.

Still clueless. Feeling that it would be rude to interrupt a concentrating woman, Nick mouthed across to Monroe: _Sorry bud, just two minutes left to guess._

_Don't push it._

Hilde would reveal herself in her own good time. Nick moved down the counter behind her and looked around the apothecary in its rejuvenated state. Not a dusty jar in sight: all beautifully steam-cleaned and clearly labelled, half on pastel blue, half on pastel green. The shelves had been polished to within an inch of their lives, the flooring switched from plank to parquet and the ancient bronze till had been switched for a slick and streamlined paper-thin touchscreen affair that must've cost a fortune alone. A heavy curtain separated the main shop from a back room and he wandered through into a room painted burnt orange with soft yellow beds and small cabinets covered in candles. He couldn't believe it used to be the box-room. More urgent posters on the wall on the way in and out, bellowing rather than suggesting: GET YOUR MASSAGE HERE!

He felt eyes upon him: stern, scrutinising eyes, and turned to face Hilde, who'd come off the computer and was staring at him, eyes wide, ears wide, a little grey and... big square teeth with a gap. Nilpherdine; ladyhorse of the Nile, Hippo. Okay, so he'd been half right. He put his hand out to introduce himself and was unsurprised when she stared at him, but pretty startled when she shot out from behind the counter like a bullet, broomed him into the re-decorated rest-room, and laid him firmly flat. Seeing Monroe following with a dangerous expression on his face, he pulled himself upright but was immediately suppressed by her hand on his forehead. He felt introductions were due in case this was some kind of tribal Grimm-subduing technique.

"I'm.. Nick," he offered, swallowing painfully. His voice was going a little.

"Sick."

"No, _Nick_."

"Sick!" she insisted, and showed him the temperature strip in her palm that he hadn't been able to see as it plummeted towards his head at a million miles an hour, and had no greater chance of seeing it as she whipped it away and stomped from the room. "You stay here. I get you much water. Don't move."

"Thanks, that's very kind." He shivered slightly but the bed was warm and soft and, hell, the pampered thing, this rare, wonderful thing was working for him. He smirked at Monroe who for a moment looked like he might _actually_ slap him, then simply shrugged.

"I'd get up, if I were you."

"What? No-one's here yet. It's not like I'm lying around on the job."

"True, but I warn you now that Hilde is a very literal creatu- lady. Good luck. I'm gonna find Rosalee and avoid this painful scene."

Nick got the feeling that Monroe was choosing his words carefully, again, and slid painfully off the bed to follow him while he had a chance. However determined Hilde was in nurse duties, she probably wouldn't come between him and a protective Blutbad. "Where's Rosalee, anyway?"

"Things are pretty much set up, so she's probably pacing outside, getting a bit of space from you-know-who. There was a little... hoo-hah earlier over the bottle display behind the counter. Rosie had them sorted by patient type and Hilde rearranged them by size. She likes symmetry, apparently."

Nick stepped out into the yard, hugging his arms. "H-How long's she been here?"

"Put it this way – a _long_ weekend."

There was something missing here. If she was so awful... "does she have a probation period or anything like that?"

"She's a volunteer," Rosie muttered, stalking up to drop him a quick peck. "Probation doesn't really apply. It'll be a while before anyone can take a salary. Apparently they have a similar set-up 'back home' and she wants to come compare notes." She looked really tired, Nick thought, and straightened up a little. She didn't need to worry about him right now. "I'm tempted to take her notes and stick them but we need the extra hands, even if the hands can't TYPE! PROPERLY! Or-"

"Incoming," Monroe muttered and his eyes widened in alarm. Nick turned awkwardly, saw Hilde with a bucket and just had time to squeeze his eyes shut before she chucked two quarts of ice water all over him.

"Can I fire her for you? Please? Jesus wept!" Nick towelled his hair vigorously, now unable to stop the shakes, and did his best to cooperate as Rosalee prised him into warm, dry clothes in the restroom. He felt so cold it was almost impossible bringing his arms out from beyond his sides to get them into sleeves. Monroe's flannels did not fit by a lunar mile and she had to fold the jeans legs up on the inside so he didn't look like an ill-borrowing dwarf. At least they were jeans, he reflected, not cords. Monroe, bless his heart, had gone upstairs to the flat to find spare cords. The jeans were still warm from Monroe's bodyheat. This would usually disturb him. But man, they were warm...

"Way too warm," Rosie commented, shaking the thermometer out. "Ok, so her style is direct and scary, but I can't fault her nursing instincts. 38.8 degrees. I'm gonna get you a coolant. Not a throw-over one."

Nick thought lovingly of the restroom bed, but immediately of the work gone into transforming the place. "I'll be fine. Just want to lie down a bit before people start showing up."

"No you won't. Be fine, that is. We need to get something for the symptoms or it's all off anyway. A lot of people are going to turn up for the curiosity rather than the hug service and if they see you dead on your feet with your arms out... they're going to think you're going for some kind of sneaky strategy to spread myxomatosis. And frankly, my _real_ business would be dead before it's even started."

"They think I would get myself this ill just to get my germs all over them?"

Rosie shrugged and headed for her stock room, throwing over her shoulder: "they're suspicious people!"

Nick sipped his tea, which made a little dent in the chills, but felt irritated. Yeah, there was suspicion, and then stupidity. How would they time him having the flu with an event? It's not like Rosie and Monroe had time to watch him night and day for signs of sniffles that may suddenly escalate and then rush off to a PC and log onto . Or maybe Rosie and Monroe would be considered the innocent victim of a Grimm scheme in which they'd lovingly set everything up and he'd destroyed by turning up with the plague, and they'd set upon him with vacc needles. He squeezed his eyes shut. He had to pull this together.

"Here you are."

"Thanks." It was always a good plan not to look into Rosie's drinks before consuming and he chucked it down his throat with hardly a swallow. It tasted like snail bruleé and he hastily downed his tea to get rid of the aftershock.

"This might put a spring in your step." Rosie beckoned him, and he shuffled after her through the shop, out the back door, up a flight of stairs and along a long corridor. There was a forbidding oak door at the end of it.

"It's a bit of a walk, but it's safe, and here's the key. The other does the backdoor so you can in when you need without waking us. Or... disturbing us."

Nick took it, curious, and his jaw dropped as he walked in. They had transplanted the contents of the caravan into the room. A decent desk. A Kettle. Books filed, ordered and indexed – clearly Monroe's doing. Pens that had nibs, not stabbing points. Decent lighting. A weapons lock-up. A cot. A cupboard for clothes and spares – as yet unfilled except for a substantial first-aid kit. A DVD stacking shelf for his sine-to-wave-file historical movies, with all the old reels neatly stacked away in a pedestal by the desk. A laptop to watch the movies with. He felt a lump in his throat which had nothing to do with the flu: and more simply that he was looking at the nicest thing anyone had ever done for him.

He turned to see Monroe and Rosie, arm in arm, looking hopefully at him.

He managed... "Guys..you..." and then sobbed all over them, starting with Rosalie, lumping onto Monroe, then spending a few moments on Rosalie again, hiccupping quietly into her hair while she patted him awkwardly on the back. Ok, so that _might _have had something to do with the flu. But they knew gratitude when they saw it. Monroe even winked. He straightened up after a moment, wiped his face off and grinned. He could do this.

Burkhardt could suck it up.


	3. Chapter 3

The Eisbibers were light-handed, nervous and swift, so gentle and deferential in touch. They caused no pain. On the other hand, they were incredibly tiring: the entire lodge turned up.

Following the Eisbibers came a flock of female...very female Mauzhertzin aged almost precisely between fifteen and seventeen, none of whom wore a skirt on the knee, and all of whom appeared unkeen to let go. A small scuffle broke out over an unnaturally long embrace and Rosalee had to remind them to form an orderly queue. She winked at him as she returned to her cash desk and through his increasingly hot eyes, he could see how much she was raking in. And she looked so beautiful, sitting there, billing it up, looking excitedly around her – not just at the sheer energy of the event she'd arranged, but higher, lower, around at the premises and dreaming almost aloud at what she could do with the money they'd pulled together. She caught his eye and for a moment it seemed she frowned, but he winked back. For this, for her... he could stick this thing out.

There was then a parade of Fuschbauin of a certain age, whose tactic was to approach slowly, smile sweetly and in slow motion, hug suddenly and violently, and then shuffle off, moaning none-too-subtly about the value of a good hug, but what a tall bill it was at thirty bucks. Nick was astonished. At no point in his life had he imagined that one of his hugs would be worth thirty bucks.

He was given a five minute break in which to collect himself, have a drink, and sit for a minute. They may well have provided him with an entirely humiliating throne, but he was so humiliated about sitting on it that he'd been on his feet for the best part of two hours because it just completely went against the grain to perch on it magisterially between hugs. But there was now no ignoring the pain in his side. It could not feel more like being stabbed without actual steel being involved. He collapsed into the back of the chair, getting his breath with the full break allowed to him, then, catching Rosie's concerned eye, waved cheerfully until she looked away and then dropped onto his feet. There were only two batches of folks left, he noted: the Dickfellig posse from the Admiral's Arms and a crowd of Jagerbar, mostly male. Bears. God. Nick felt his chest protest in advance.

With the transplant of the caravan stash firmly in mind, he stepped forward to beam at the first Dickfellig hugger before him, typically leathered (below the waist, not just his skin), white tee-shirted, and actually wearing a badge saying 'Gray Pride'. He narrowly avoided the horn coming towards his face, then realised that the eight guys in front of him intended to hug him two at a time. While this got it all over with fairly quickly, he felt pretty compressed by the time they'd passed on.

And on.. to the bears...Nick lifted his arms, smiled...

There was one guy left in the queue when the snail brulee stopped working altogether and the drilling sensation resumed, deep and intense, a couple of inches under his armpit.

A white fringe drew in like a drawstring around the edge of his vision and he could feel the ground growing spongy under his feet. The earnest fifty-something Jagerbar gripped him sincerely by the shoulders (on balance he preferred the grippers to the huggers) and Nick tried to hear but all he could pick up was the screaming of his chest inside. He could barely lip-read for the grey blotches filling up the limited space in the white drawstring. The Jagerbar appeared content, however, and marched off, having said his piece.

Nick reached for the side of the throne for balance and missed – barely staying on his feet. "Monroe!" It came out as a rasp. A pathetic one. "Monroe?" He saw, distantly, the big Blutbad sprinting towards him but couldn't stay up long enough. The ceiling kind of rose away from him and he hit the deck.

"Crap! Nick! Can you hear me?" Monroe let go of Nick's head and bent down to do his usual breathing-and-pulse thing, but just as he was leaning over he was usurped by Hilde, who barged in, shoved a brawny forearm under Nick's shoulders and patted his face vigorously, eliciting muffled, bewildered grunts of protest from the barely-conscious Grimm.

"Hilde, can you _not_ do that, please?"

She continued, so Monroe grabbed Nick jealously and manoeuvred him into recovery. "We're trying to bring him round _gently_. Not, y'know, smack him into the middle of next week!"

"If this is not vaking him up, there is a problem."

"I know there's a fricking problem!" Monroe took a deep breath. Volunteer. Must not alienate the volunteer. "Could you get Rosalie, please?"

"I go."

"Do!" For the love of lavender... he shook his head and turned back to Nick, who seemed to have passed out altogether. Oh, so not good. And boiling- HOW could he be that hot? Monroe found himself tearing the flannel shirt off and was both aghast and unsurprised to find a huge red glow of local infection on Nick's side. Rosalie was downstairs quickly, bag in hand. She had oxygen on him first and then fought with her luggage.

"Hell. Hell, Hell. Hell, Hell, hell...hell... – Hold!" She shoved the dripfeed bags into Monny's hands fiercely. "Monny! wake up and hold!"

"Sorry, I was thrown by the hells! What are you giving him?"

"Setting up saline and whatever it is we need to bring his infection down."

"Wasn't that the snail brulee?"

"No, that was just dealing with the symptoms. It's just... we thought we were dealing with flu, and – ah – clearly not. Hang on..." Rosalee bent over and listened. "Pneumonia. Grab the mauve vial."

"WHAT?" Monroe looked down at Nick, who was now actually sheet grey (at least, his sheets were grey) and felt a significant twinge of guilt for hauling him so mercilessly from bed. But then again, if Nick had stayed home all day, he'd have passed out earlier, on his own, and may possibly have got into an even worse state. He liked his version of the story best. Rosie pumped the 'mauve stuff' straight into Nick's arm and his eyes flew open as he bolted upright. Then slumped back again. Cause solved, symptoms still ruled.

"That'll take a few minutes to kick in."

It seemed to take a very, very long time.

They paced, argued and both woged with the stress as they alternately took his pulse and mopped him down. Eventually he gave a weak kind of groan. She bent to listen to his chest.

"Oh, what you trying to say, honey?" She got as close as she could to his mouth and strained to hear. Then ruffled his hair. "Well, that was worth bending over for."

"What's he say?"

"I've got tickly ears, apparently. I'll just go get more cloths. Sit him up a bit more now, if you can."

Monroe slotted himself between Nick and a wall and hauled him up to a more seated position, where Nick's head rested on his collar bone. "Well, that was pretty grim."

"...'m not a...pretty.. Grimm."

Monroe rolled his eyes. "Good to have you back, buddy. Even if you are talking out your ass. You did well today. Thanks. I mean that."

Nick cleared his throat and seemed a little more compos mentis, though breathless. "Did I... get through everyone? There was one...guy...left."

"That's me. We made a huge amount, man. We'll be opening next month, if we're well-organised."

"That's great."

Monroe just let Nick get on with breathing for a little while. He also had to get over the absolute guilt attack of having made a guy with pneumonia hug nearly a hundred people.

"Why does my face hurt?"

"Hilde was reviving you."

"Don't let her do that again, please?"

"Deal. Are you up to holding these? Good." Monroe handed Nick the drip bags and picked him up to take him to the rest room, where it was far more comfortable.

"HOW... do you do that?" Nick asked indistinctly.

"I'm blutbad, remember? We're strong. But seriously, dude, you need to put some weight on. It's like carrying a baby new potato around.

Nick resented being compared to a baby new potato, and said so, distinctly. "Don't I still owe you a hug?"

"Nah, got a better scheme, now. 'Put a Grimm to bed'".


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks guys, for all the lovely reviews. Really appreciate them – it's been fun writing! Ok, so here's the penultimate part...**

The shock to Nick's system was sufficient to allow him to drop off as soon as his head whumped onto the pillow but he unconsciously took Monroe's 'baby potato' snark into sleep with him, enduring over and over different versions of the same dream in which his 'pal' put him in one copper half of Rosie's measuring scales and compared him to a series of pathetically insubstantial foodstuffs.

_This garlic is seriously outflanking you, man. Ok – which is bigger, Grimm, or grape? Ok, you got the edge on that one. How about this mini-muffin...?_

And in the way of dreams, he yelled his head off about doing his best to pull his weight and doing his best, and flailed his arms to climb out the scales and nothing worked. He was invisible and inaudible, and then a goddamn great anaconda was climbing into the scales with him, focussing solely on crushing the living daylights out of his right upper arm (very selective, this snake) and he woke up in a burst of panic to see Hilde's vast form leaning attentively over him. Her presence was not soothing.

Nor was her latest report on his negligible health. "146/95. Your blood pressure is too high."

"Really?"

"And a reedy pulse at 105. You are 31 and fit. Apart from this infection, your health is very rude. So this is a ridiculous readings."

Nick fought the urge to be as 'rude' as his health. "How do you know I'm 31?"

"Rosalie has a little book of Grimm. She lend it to me to totally absorb."

"Thank you for absorbing it so...enthusiastically." Nick gritted his teeth as feeling returned to his upper arm and fingertips. He had a horrible feeling that any display of pain or discomfort would lead to something disgusting being poured down his throat and he was in no fit state to withstand the ministrations of a Nilpherdine. He tried to appeal to her sense of nursely logic. "That's not likely to be an accurate reading, though. Just telling you before you put it on my notes." _Why is she making notes?_

"Vy not?"

He kept his voice as level as possible. "Because you snuck up on me in the middle of the night and crushed my bicep while I was having a nightmare."

"I do it again at nine." She shambled off happily enough and he instantly tracked down his mobile to set an alarm for 8.58 so he'd be ready, sitting down, with his sleeve rolled up. Some things in life just weren't worth fighting.

He couldn't settle after she'd left, the bad dream circulating in his mind like an increasingly noisy, rusty and annoying hamster wheel operated on remote by a dickhead. He felt, frankly, like a liability rather than an asset. Fainting from the _flu, _for christ's sake? Pathetic! And as genuine as Monroe sounded when he'd said he'd done well the day before, a tiny awareness grew rapidly within him that he was someone to gently put up with rather than stand alongside as an valuable ally. He felt slightly shamed thinking about Rosalee's tireless organisation of this whole set-up, let alone the effort going into the fundraiser day. And Monroe… his whole routine had been turned inside out and upside down and it must be taking all the strength he had not to shift every few minutes, but the only visible signs of strain was a little…crabbiness. And where was he, with all this industry going on? Flat on his back, getting molested by a hippo.

He rubbed his hands down his face and glanced over at the clock. Nearly seven already. He gave up chasing sleep as a bad job and creaked out of bed. Get a shower. Do something useful. His embarrassment at his friends' eternal kindness deepened a little as he saw a pile of clean and Monroe-folded clothes on a cot in the rest room. They must have driven over to his place while he was sleeping, after all the clearing up they'd have had to do. And clearly he'd gone out suddenly, because he was still wearing Monroe's jeans. He yanked them down without having to undo them (ok, so maybe he could stand to gain a little weight), slipped a teeshirt over his boxers for decency, and went hunting for the communal showers, towel in hand.

The smell of coffee intercepted him and he saw Rosie in the kitchenette, bustling around. She turned as he approached and smiled, but she looked completely all-in. Nick sat her down and took over. He was grateful to her for letting him, and not bossing him straight back to bed.

"How you feeling?" she asked cautiously.

Nick flexed a little and tried to raise his arms. His side still burned a little, but it was nothing like yesterday's stab fest. He realised that the reason he'd had space in his head for maudlin reflections all morning was because he was not in agony, and this refreshing thought brought a smile. "Okay, actually. I'm still a little sore, but whatever you gave me seems to have knocked it on the head."

"Good." She took the coffee and smiled weakly at him as he sat but also shot him a suspicious sideways glance, which he caught.

"What?"

"You shouldn't have recovered that quick. It's just unnatural. We need to talk about your pain threshold. Of course I'm glad you're feeling better, but… did Hilde do your vitals check?"

"Oh yes."

"Good, I'll look over them later."

"Sure, but they may be a little out of whack." Nick told her about the morning ambush, pleased to see her laugh properly, some of the strain off her face. She promised to take a few points off the systolic measurement, whatever that was. In a way, he had to admire Hilde's devotion to duty. "She may be heavy-handed, but she's no slacker. As the Vogons say, 'resistance is useless'."

His comment seemed to distract her momentarily from a less pleasant thought crossing behind her eyes. "I thought the Borg said that?"

"The Borg think that resistance is futile." He felt more like himself by the moment. "Get your forms of hopelessness right."

"I'll try. Ok – well you go clean up and take it easy, ok? I gotta get to work."

Nick frowned – babied again. _Baby new potato – STOP IT! _"I'm fine. Can't I help out?"

"Actually…. You could do a little labelling from our sale system, if you're up to it. I'm a bit concerned about Hilde's grasp on the concept of _touch_screen."

Nick's coffee nearly went down the wrong way as he swigged the last and headed for the shower. He got as far as the doorway when it occurred to him to go back and wash the cup first. _Start as you mean to go on, kiddo._

Squeaky clean and ready to rock, Nick trotted back down the stairs and heard voices on his way down – raised voices. Rosalee infuriated about – something – and, as he turned the corner, saw the outlines of two hooded figures through the frosted glass of the shop. He shot up from behind her and stood in front, ready to fight.

Matty stared at him curiously from his front-facing baby-pouch, which Bud was unstrapping and handing over to Rosalee. There was a gigantic supply of …..stuff in the shop doorway behind them. Matty was fluxing in and out of Eisbiber-normal, and Bud and Janie appeared stuck in their wesen form. Ok, so now Nick understood the hoods. And felt more than a little foolish.

"Look," Bud spluttered, "we're really sorry, we didn't know where else to come. We felt fine until we were heading to the hug thing yesterday, it's probably just flu – but for the time being…."

"You can't infect Matty, I know," Rosie said darkly. "We'll have him for a couple of days till you're…yourselves again."

Janie was wide-eyed and apologetic. "The social workers are in and out all the time seeing how the whole fostering thing's going, and… we just can't give them any cause for concern. Like turning their ward into a beaver. Or a lion, come to that."

"Nick – hold." Rosalee parked Matty directly into his arms and he was about to protest that he was probably not the ideal person to be within breathing space of a healthy baby, when she went off at the Eis like they were school kids. "You felt unwell _on your way_ to the fundraiser? Are you nuts? Have you any idea how many people you might have infected – including Nick? Who is already a little fragile, incidentally!"

The beavers blushed, mumbled as one. "We thought it might be a little cold, but we didn't wanna miss out. Matty was really looking forward to it. Weren't you, Matty?"

Nick caught Matty's eye and fought back a grin. The kid was barely one, but his range of unimpressed expressions was…impressive. It was like he was channelling his inner Hank.

Rosalee wasn't done with them. "I don't care if this little guy was blowing up balloons in preparation, but you do not bring wesen germs to a public event. Ok? Fine. You guys go home, and I'll swing by later with some jabs. Hopefully we can hand him back to you tomorrow."

"Thank you SO much-"

"Bye!" She sent the Eisbibers packing brusquely and sated her rage by kicking most of Matty's packing indoors. "Ok Nick, if you need to be useful, this is where you'll be stellar. Consider yourself the babysitter. Thanks to those utter fools, I've now got to mass mail all those people in the queue and tell them to watch out for flu-like symptoms."

Nick was aghast. "What if it came from me? Not to sound like a coward, but we'll get lynched! Donations will be taken back, all your work-"

"Honey, if it came from you, I'd wax you first and then lynch you myself. You've got pneumonia, not flu. You're not infectious, and you never were."

"Really. Pneumonia. And you found this out, when?"

"After you collapsed. You were in no state for rational conversation when you came round, so don't get all antsy with me for not putting you straight sooner."

Something was bugging Nick about this. "So… how did you know I wasn't infectious before the….hug…." he wanted to say ordeal, settled for… "event?"

"Fuschbau, Nick! I can smell it! Anyway, you guys will kick along together just fine. Hell, you've had practice, haven't you?"

"Ah yeah, about an hour of it, three months ago. And as I recall, I wasn't exactly the smoothest of operators-" he caught her exasperated gaze and shut his trap. "I'm on the job."

She softened, reached past Matty and landed him a peck on the cheek. "You're my hero. Seriously." She grabbed her laptop from the counter and trudged wearily into the back office.

Nick watched her go, strangely feeling a little better about things. There seemed just that tiny bit more dignity from passing out from pneumonia than flu. Not that he was going to dwell on it. Matty regained his attention by pulling assertively on his hair, and Nick followed the direction of tugging to the rest room.

And he didn't do too badly as a babysitter, as it turned out. Happy and relaxed with Nick, Matty stayed human, but his parentage was blatantly obvious. Apart from trying to feed the kid some mashed banana (a wholly unrewarding experience in which most of the food was airborne), they were pretty chilled out. Nick sat with Matty on one of the cots, watching him building a hut with duplo blocks that would've been rubber-stamped by building control. His concentration was fierce, his dark blonde hair thatching his little head as he bent over his work, building up a cabin piece by careful piece. Every now and then, he'd stop and do a yawn that seemed to last about five minutes.

"Ok buddy. Nap time."

"Uh uh."

Nick frowned. "What did you say? Did you uh-uh me?"

Matty gave him the full force of his eyes and eyelashes and Nick fought not to be conned by his cuteness.

"Nap! Now!" He lifted the little guy into the impossible-to-open-without-swearing folding cot and tucked him in firmly with a blankie and the stuffed, ripped, decimated soft zebra toy. He was unsurprised to see the Lowen side of the kid spring out immediately. "Hey kid, pipe down there or no steak for two weeks. You got me?"

What he got was a sullen glare, and repeated indignant growls, but he was the alpha in this face off, and that was all he needed for now. He left a little light on, and went out in the shop to see if he could figure out how to do the labelling. Monroe shambled downstairs and greeted him reasonably cheerfully but frowned as soon as he heard the noise from the next room.

"I hear déjà vu."

Nick explained, Monroe rolled his eyes magnificently. "Beavers will be beavers. You up to this? Not feeling too… run over, half dead, used and abused?"

"I'm fine. Really. Want a coffee? I'm making one for Rosie, too. She looks…knackered!"

"Dude, you don't even know the half of it. Keeps forgetting her own name-" They froze as they both heard Hilde's undainty progress up the stairs and Nick checked the time. Nine on the dot. No point in running and hiding – he just sat down and rolled up his sleeve.

"Blood pressure time."

Monroe smirked. "Lucky you."

Hilde didn't emerge at the rate they thought she might. There was a moment of shuffling from the other room, then a little cooing and ah-ing at the tot in the cot. Matty gave an irritable 'RARR!".

The horrible thought of the wesen-combination coming together next door dawned on Nick at pretty much exactly the same time….

…..that Hilde screamed "LOWENBABY!" at wood-shattering volumes, dropped all her equipment, ran Monroe over, and bolted out the door.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hi there, thanks so much for all the reviews! It really made me feel bouncy to find those alerts sitting in my inbox! (beams hugely) Been pretty sick myself the last week, so it's made me a feel a hell of a lot better. Thank you.**

**This was going to be the final part of this story, but unexpectedly, it developed legs and went for a longer walk. Usually I have the whole thing written out long-hand and then type it up in instalments when I can get an hour to myself, but I was looking at two different stories together, something clicked, and this one ended up extending to swallow the other one up. I hope it works. Rating M for language.**

* * *

"God, Monroe, you ok?" Nick bent to peel Monroe off the parquet, but his friend had already rolled onto hands and knees, sucking in air and flapping his arm urgently at the doorway. Nick frowned. "You _want _me to chase the hippo?"

"Later...Go... she's...fast!"

Yeah, right. Nick stepped out into the biting wind and saw the terrorised Nilpherdine thundering halfway down the second block, making excellent progress to the third. God, she _was _fast! He broke into a run, grunting slightly as the contrary air flow shoved an icy breeze down into his chest. She was putting embarrassing distance between them and he accelerated, following the stress-cracks in the sidewalk, banking left into an alley. Damn, not a dead-end alley. Knowing he couldn't keep this speed up, he stopped and roared down the street after her.

Miraculously, she started slowing down. Sure, it took a few moments for her to conquer her own momentum, but by the time he'd drawn near, she was pacing at the end of the alley, shaking, wringing her hands, denting the bins lining the scuzzy brick. Her eyes were absolutely wild. Nick approached slowly, hands out, voice low.

"Hilde, it's me. Just...try to calm down."

"How can you do such a thing! He's LOWEN!"

"He's just a baby-"

"And this makes it ok? How do you feel if I hand you tiny sweet little girl and you give her hug, then she goes green, wrinkly and evil and takes scythe out of teddybear?"

He'd confiscate the scythe, for starters. "Yeah, that would be...alarming, but if I could just explain-"

Hilde stomped over, trapping him between her vast bulk and a garbage skip. "Why you play this awful trick on me?"

He looked up and realised, horrified, that she had tears rolling down her face like rain. This was full and proper phobia. She thought he'd deliberately...? He pulled his voice back to life, if only to prevent himself getting pounded. "No! No one's playing tricks on you! Look – he's _half_ Lowen. That side only comes out when he's stressed or surprised. His parents are sick and they dropped him off to stop him getting infected. I'm sorry, I didn't think ahead. And he's really tiny, Hilde, it's not like he can-"

"SMALL? She completely rounded on him, steaming. "newmonnia germs are small but look what they do to you! The Lowen are _hunters_, Grimm! They hunt my people for generations! You know why my father move us from Manzini to Bayern when we were twelve? Do you think it was the beautiful parklands, muddy rivers and choice of grass? No, we move to Germany because it is _amazing _how many lions YOU DON'T FIND THERE!"

What Nick thought, as his eardrums recovered slowly from the shouting attack, was how amazing her English suddenly became under stress. He needed to move away from the skip. It was freezing him through his tee-shirt and she had him pretty much pinned. He apologised, profusely, convinced her he had no intention of springing a nasty trick on her and eventually she shambled back, giving him a little space. She just looked disconsolate, now. He found a couple of crates and pulled them together. She sat. He pulled over a beer keg and perched on it while she got herself together, wiping her face with the sleeve of hier lilac cardi.

"I'm sorry. It's thirty years since I was frightened by Lowen. Just a shock. As you say, he very tiny."

"What happened to you?"

"It was not a single one thing. I didn't lose family, like some of my friends. It was just, years of being hunted. My mother had a... I don't know the words." Her eyes met his appealingly. "A mental crackdown, yes?"

"Yes." Nick put his hand on her shoulder. "Go on."

"Lowenkinderen form prides when they are really small – you know – right from kindergarten. You find them smiling at you lazily and you just know that even if they do nothing now, even if they're not saying anything, they're just looking at you and thinking: 'pudding'. All through school, they take my lunches – not even to eat, just to throw around – they stalk me down the corridors and follow me and Petra home from school, grinning."

Nick took her hand as she cleared a lump out of her throat. There were various jerks at his school who, looking back, might well have been Lowen, picking on him when he was isolated, lost and missing his parents. He knew well the creep-out factor of being followed home. Getting big didn't help, even if he'd lost all the weight again by the time he was old enough to become a potentially interesting fight competitor in senior year. The one guaranteed method for staying off the wrestling team had been remaining firmly under 160lb. He looked down at the lack of breadth in his chest through his tee-shirt. Maybe that resolution had stuck with him a little harder than he'd realised.

"...and when they weren't stalking, they were... making us fight. They closed us off into the girls' toilets and made us fight, sometimes making me and Petra fight each other, shouting and cheering in Afrikaans if we knocked each other over. One day, I was fighting Petra, and..."

Nick caught his breath, hoping he wasn't about to hear some tragedy. She caught his eye and smiled crookedly.

"No, I killed no one, but I was good in fight by then. I lost my temper and smacked one of the Lowen backwards and broke many teeth. We had to leave. Upsetting the pride of the pride, you know. The adults made my mother's life hell."

Nick felt weirdly proud of her for hitting back, despite the consequences. He understood why the mere sight of Matty made her blood run cold. Speaking of which... his legs were beginning to vibrate uncontrollably. He still had her hand and tried to haul her affectionately from the crates, but she suddenly asserted her superior power of gravity and nearly put his back out.

"Not coming."

He took a deep breath. "Look, I understand the fear, I really do, but Matty's in no position to hurt you. He's being raised by Eis foster parents, not Lowen. He just needs a firm hand to know who's-"

"I'm not scared of being hurt by this piddly lowen! No, him I will learn to cope with. I'm a little frightened of Mr Monroe."

"You're scared of Monroe? Why?"

"He is already so...snarky and does not like me, then I ran out like a silly and left him all crushed and tramply so he like me even less."

Nick bit back a smirk. Fair point. Monroe didn't really do crushed or tramply. "Don't worry about him, he'll be fine. Just apologise. He's a good guy. The best."

She looked at him suspiciously, but got up at least. "How you meet him?"

"I leapt on him and accused him of abducting a child. He's very forgiving."

"Oh. Maybe I try again. I don't want to upset Miss Rosalee by leaving with so much left to do to set up the lab."

Lab? A weird way of describing the apothecary set-up, even if it was rapidly becoming more like a batcave with all his stuff stashed upstairs.

They walked back in companiable silence until she observed that he was very cold and then there was a brief, undignified struggle (which he barely won) in which she tried to stuff him into her cavernous lilac cardigan in the roughest part of town.

This unprovoked attack brought his inner Grimm roaring to the surface and he warned her that unless she stepped off with the...garment.. _right-the-hell-away..._ she'd see exactly how bad his pneumonia wasn't.

Hilde blinked, desisted. "You are very stern."

"Good!" A bit of impact on someone at last! Nevertheless, he stepped up the pace a little. It really was very, very cold, even if the shop was only half a block away. By the time they back to the shop, he couldn't feel his feet and that nagging pain under his armpit had kicked back in again. He pushed his way indoors and the heat hit him like a sauna's wall of steam, making him reel.

* * *

He didn't drop – he didn't have _time_ to drop – Monroe lunged at him, hurled him over his shoulder, the impact driving all the oxygen from Nick's lungs, legged it through to the rest room and all but slam-dunked him back on the cot, pulling a blanket over him.

"Youhaven'tlefttheshop," he whispered urgently.

"TWENTY FUCKING EMAILS FROM INFECTED PARTIES!" Nick saw two Rosalees appear wrathfully at the doorway, bags in hands, and it took a moment to bring them back into singular ranting focus: "I'm gonna check on those damnfool Bibers and their victims. Back in a couple of hours."

Monroe straightened up. "Twenty? God - want me to go halves?"

She sighed deeply. "No, at least they've had the decency to gather their germs at the lodge so I don't have to cross down a million times." Her eyes narrowed. "Nick ok? He looks a little uncomfortable."

"Bit of a relapse, poor guy. One minute he's fine, then dropped into my arms all floppy, so.."

**_Dropped into your arms all floppy? _**In between the squeaks of his lungs re-filling, Nick shot Monroe a look that said _be very, very grateful that I can't speak right now._

"Ok – keep an eye on him, and for God's sake don't let him go out, whatever he says. He felt better earlier, but he's still running a stiff fever. His next shot's at ten. See you in a while." And then she left, slamming the door.

Monroe exhaled deeply as Rosalee screeched off in the car and turned to give Nick a profoundly thankful look. "You have seriously saved my butt."

Nick pulled himself upright painfully, clutching his gut, feeling his chest protesting, his entire ribcage tender. "I gotta admit... my silence... was... largely involuntary." Pain shot through him from under his armpit. "God, that _hurt! _What's the fucking urgency with dumping me in bed?"

"I'm sorry, man. I was going for speed. Not... whumpage."

"Really? Well, consider me whumped!"

Monroe gave him the sad eyes. "Want something for the pain?"

"Yeah! Preferably something I can swallow!"

Monroe slunk off, and there was the sound of rummaging, glass jars being clanked, heavy bottles being returned to shelves. He returned with a couple of really professional-looking red tablets and a cup of water. "I just really, really didn't want Rosie finding that I'd sent you out after Hilde."

"Yeah, I think I got that." Nick panted his way back to normality, took the pills from Monroe's hand, curled them into his palm. Monroe looked so down-trodden that he didn't have the heart to stay annoyed. "Threatened with waxing?"

"Hah – I'd be begging for waxing. No, in her current mood, she'd go for full de-forestation."

"Ow. You're not in the dog house after my pass-out yesterday, are you?"

"Funny. No, I'm not, thanks. Well, I was, but only for about ten minutes. She's steaming at the beavers rather than me and I'd prefer it to stay that way, if it's ok by you."

"My lips are sealed." Nick popped the pills and washed them down. Pretty painless. "That was easy. Just like taking Advil."

Monroe chuckled. "Nick, you _were_ taking Advil. Rosie's the pharmacist round here, not me. Don't worry, I'm sure there's a disgusting concoction in your near future – oh yeah, your shot."

"Does it come in a shotglass?"

"In a needle, unfortunately. It's a very strong, natural anti-biotic made from the same source mould as penicillin, but it won't mess around with your ludicrously under-charged nervous system in the same way. We gave you a shot at four in the morning but you were so far gone you didn't feel it. I'll just go get the stuff. I'll need the Hippo to help. Sorry about that."

"'Sokay." Nick watched Monroe go, toying briefly with the idea of protesting about his 'ludicrously under-charged' nervous system, but thinking better of it. His friend seemed to be carrying a fair bit of weight on his shoulders. It didn't feel like there was any particular tension between them after their bust-up yesterday, but something... just wasn't quite right. And he still didn't quite get why it had been paralyzingly important that he run out after Hilde: well, yeah, of course it was important that the poor woman wasn't scared senseless by one of the inmates of the place, but...

...He glanced over at the nervous Nilpherdine, who'd evidently decided that she was going to take Matty in hand and had popped the growling, struggling bundle into the booster-seat that had been included with his overnight stuff. She was vigorously chopping up a little bowl of what looked like spaghetti Bolognese. She stuck the spoon in it and pushed it towards him.

Matty eyeballed her steadily, his head inclined at a slightly insolent tilt – or was he imagining it? Nick had to keep reminding himself that Matty only recently had his honorary first birthday: looking at the little whiskered face, it was like seeing a confident hunter many years older. He fought the urge to march over and tell Matty what was what. Hilde had to get past Lowephobia herself. She seemed to be doing a good job, albeit shaky.

"Dinner," she commanded. "Eat!"

Matty sniffed it, pushed it away.

"You vill eat your nice spaghetti and like it!"

Matty inhaled and roared and just as Nick really was going to march over and continue their male-dominance match of earlier, Hilde hauled the little guy up to eye level, booster seat, chair and all, and roared in his face: "THERE VILL BE NO ROARING IN THE FACE. GOT THAT, HERR HAIRY?"

Matty was so surprised that he woged sporadically from Lowen to human a couple of times before settling for meek human, his hazel eyes and mouth wide, his face saying: _Jeez, lady! Unnecessary! _He was settled down with the furniture and reached for the spoon, looking over to Nick in mute appeal. Nick smiled, but shook his head. _She's the boss, kiddo. Get used to it._

And then Monroe was back again with a syringe, an evil looking needle, and a strap on a tray. Nick shied away from it a little. He wasn't afraid of needles. It wasn't like they were going to leap up and attack him. He just found them a little...invasive. Hilde was on the case though, and rammed him sideways up the bed, keeping her back between his shoulder and the rest of his arm, which she gripped bruisingly. He couldn't even imagine how she'd get the needle into his inner elbow at that angle, and even Monroe was looking a little concerned.

"Ah, Hilde – what you doing?"

"Finding a vein – don't move - Aha!"

Nick roared his head off as she slammed the needle pretty much perpendicular into the middle of his inner wrist and then felt a cold rush as the purple stuff got him. He snatched his arm back and cradled it, in shock.

"You moved!"

"What the ..._fuck_ was that?" God, after being so nice to her all morning... "Call yourself a nurse?"

Hilde looked confused. "No, I never call myself nurse! I'm just trying to help out where I can."

Nick stayed obediently still while Monroe incredulously slapped a band-aid on his wrist, but they were united in glowering in her general direction. The bruising was broad and immediate – he had a funny feeling that the needle had gone right through the other side of the blood vessel. "Hilde, that was _not_ helpful! If you don't know how to do it, then... hang on, if you're not a nurse, what are you?"

She shrugged. "I'm Hilde of the resistance."

"Yes we _know_ you're Hilde of the resis-"

"Do we?" Nick spluttered, feeling the day get away from him a little bit.

"-but I thought you were also a qualified nursing volunteer!" Monroe shouted. "For the love of... I sent a really ill guy sprinting down the damn road after you! You're supposed to be in hiding!"

Nick saw Hilde's face crumple as Monroe woged and got up between them, a hand on each of their chests. His vision started flashing in and out. He could've done with a hand on his own chest, to be honest, just for the comfort. The drilling was recommencing under his arm and he was shaking insanely. "Can we... all just sit down and... get less... confused, please?"

Monroe glared from him, to Hilde, back to him, shifted back to human and frowned. "Hey, you've gone a _horrible_ colour."

Nick blinked. "Yeah, I need to..." _siddown_

"NICK!"

Nick had a relapse, poor guy, and dropped into Monroe's arms all floppy.


	6. Chapter 6

**Hi guys – thanks for all the continued support! Really appreciate all your kind and encouraging reviews. I think there's one more part after this….**

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Rosalee was relieved to see that a degree of triage had been arranged before she'd even arrived, and the 30-odd wesen in the lodge were arranged by cot, chair or sitting on the floor. She did the flat-out wesen first, starting with Bud and Janie as the most severe cases. They whimpered distantly throughout, apologising into perpetuity for causing so much bother. "Just thought it was a cold…" Janie kept repeating, through sobs, and Rosalee couldn't stay mad. It was clear that they were suffering an acute case of shame which was hurting them far more than the strain of Biberflu they'd contracted. She rolled down their sleeves, told them to get some rest. At least the shots worked really quickly.

Halfway into the queue, she reached the head of the Oregon Lauffer: her father's best friend and monumental pain in the butt, Walther 'the doctor' Maier. Maier was stranded in Jaberbar form, as was the groaning Frank Rabe beside him, but was nonetheless well enough to irritate the tits off her with his usual 'Godfather' delusions. He'd never talk to her, or anyone else, straight on. All conversations took place at an angle, with him looking sideways in a dangerous and speculative way. God only knew what his chiropractor bill was like. She'd always felt that he was about as menacing as a slice of quiche. But then, the people whose businesses he'd sunk would probably disagree with her there.

"Hey Calvert, thanks for coming. Appreciate it."

Quite impressive, actually, that he managed to sound even hoarser than usual. She gave him a thin smile. "It's fine." She rolled up his sleeve and prepared the shot.

"You put on a great day yesterday. It's just a shame about…" he waved a vague hand around at the aftermath in the lodge.

"Tell me about it."

"You raise a lot?"

Rosalee groaned inwardly. He was going to bring up the goddamn lab again. She was not having a lab _in_ her wellness centre. Period. "Raised enough, and still – no thanks."

"You don't pull your punches, huh?"

If he'd take a damn hint, she wouldn't have to.

"Take a look around, kiddo. What does this incident tell you?"

"That sick bibers should be locked up. Excuse me." She moved onto Frank Rabe, who was ready to slide off his chair with fatigue. "You weren't here yesterday – how come you're sick?"

"Poker buddies," Rabe muttered, sticking his arms out. "Maier invited me round for a nice evening of faro and flu."

Maier butted back in. "What this incident tells me is that unless we got treatments on tap, we get problems. 'Specially now we're all mixing socially more. Jags and Bibers in a room sharing coffee? Wouldn't have happened a year ago. And now I wouldn't have it any other way but this comes at a cost – pandemics. We gotta make stocks, gotta sell emergency stuff over your counter…"

"That part I'm happy with. That's why I did the fundraiser. You do the clever stuff, I'll sell the stocks. But I'm not having a lab on my premises."

"I don't know why you're struggling so much with this. You want to cure sick wesen. I want to cure sick wesen! What's wrong with a partnership?"

"You're researching cures for gemischtwesen! I know how important it is to advance the science on mixed-breed, but I have my own life. I do not want verrat turning my place over because they don't like what I'm doing. Monny and Burkhardt have their own issues, their own jobs. I'm not having them feel like they need to watch over me all the time." She considered the homeless hippo currently taking up residence in their rear basement and groaned. "Besides, things are kind of crowded already. I've no room for a chemist as well."

Maier looked utterly baffled. "What? Why do you think I sent you Hilde? Apart from the security aspect, of course."

Rosalee tried to imagine the somnambulant Nilpherdine tiptoeing through the test tubes, expertly putting together tinctures. More immediately, she saw a pile of broken glass and a multi-coloured puddle. "If I had a lab, and I'm certainly not saying I'm going to, I wouldn't let Hilde near it. If you're gonna stand there waffling, do some injections, please. I've got a sick Grimm to get back to."

"You wouldn't let Hilde 'the chemist' Zimmermann into a lab? You guys got some kind of personality clash thing going on?"

Rabe straightened up and pulled his sleeve down. "Why do they call her 'the chemist?' She a poisoner, or something?"

"Uh, no. Granted, she's not much of a people person, but they call her 'the chemist' because she's … a chemist. Ok, it lacks imagination, but we gotta keep things concise in the Lauffer."

"So, not a nurse," Rosalee muttered darkly.

"Nurse?" Maier laughed weakly. "What the hell gave you that idea? I hope she hasn't been treating anyone you actually _like_." Rosalee glared at Maier until he should've felt burning in his fur. So, he'd sent her Hilde 'the chemist' pre-emptively? She was temporarily speechless with rage and scared the crap out of the young teenage Eis she was in the middle of treating. "Sorry, go." The kid did, and the Eis behind him scrabbled behind each other not to be next.

She was going to send Hilde back to Bayern in a suitcase. No, scrap that, she'd send Hilde back to Bayern _as _the suitcase. She struggled to remember whether Hilde had actually said she was a nurse at any point, and in honesty, she couldn't: but she'd nodded her way knowledgeably round the entire stock tour, and thrown in a few intelligent questions about the spices. She must have mentioned 'after-care', 'holistic nursing', 'nursing care' about twenty times and not once had the dopey hippo contradicted her. Rosie sighed as she beckoned up the next timid Eis. She should've suspected something when she'd seen Hilde's unsubtle approach to tackling Nick's hyperthermia.

Rabe was getting irate in the background. "Just to check, then, you're Walther 'the doctor' Maier. I have to know. Are you actually a doctor?"

"Uh… yeah." Maier woged back to human through sheer sheepishness. "Qualified in '82. Also not a people person, so I went into pharmac—"

"Fuck's sake! Why don't you just call yourself Dr Maier and be done with it? I thought it was really sinister! You know how many games of poker I've 'lost' to you just 'cause I thought it was sinister?"

"Guys – shut up. Rabe, go home."

"Gladly!" The shifted lawyer stomped off, muttering under his breath about dumbass almost-gangsters.

Rosalee fixed Maier with the kind of glare she usually reserved for shoplifters after her tincture of prickle poppy. "Understand this, Dr Maier, I will not be strong-armed. You sent me Hilde assuming that I'd agree to the lab, didn't you?"

"Well yeah, and for security—"

"I don't give a blue Reinigen's ass whether she's with us as a bouncer, chemist or goddamn tealady! If she's not in danger, I want her gone. I am not a Lauffer boarding house!"

Maier gave an exaggerated shrug as a nervous maushertz stepped into the seat in front of him and bared her arm. "I gotta say, I'm kinda disappointed, Rosie. Your father and I were like this-" he did the best-buddy cross with his fingers, "and I was kind of under the impression that you'd taken on the family business."

"You keep harassing me, pal, and you'll be walking like this—" she did the excruciating-pain-between-the-legs cross with her fingers "for the rest of your natural life."

"Fine. My mistake. Ian told me you put him up. Said you had a lot of stones and that you seemed up on your Lauffer lore. Well, I just hope that having Hilde with you for a few days hasn't put any of you in any danger."

Rosie considered Nick's state of health and had a burning urge to get back home before he could be subjected to any more TLC. Then she listened to Maier in retrospect. "So Hilde isn't just your annoying plant – she's actually at risk?"

"Yeah – she killed a Hundjager and she's kind of easy to spot. It's gonna be a bummer trying to move her."

"Not my problem," Rosie sing-songed. "What did she do to the Hundjager?"

Maier paled. "I can't tell you about it – it's just … unspeakable. But you know, offer's still on the table. Don't knock it out the park just yet. Look, do me a favour and take my advice - even if you don't take up my offer, please keep hold of Hilde for just…another… couple of days. "

"Or what?"

"Well, just for example, I wouldn't want anything unfortunate to happen to your sick Grim—WHOA, CALVERT! GET OFF!"

* * *

Monroe stuck Nick back on the cot for the third time in 24 hours, feeling - though he didn't think it was possible - even lousier than the last two times he'd stuck the Grimm in bed. The rest room seemed to be getting a lot of action for a place that wasn't actually open for business. He almost expected to hear someone say from behind, director-style: "Ok there Eddie, let's put the Grimm in the bed one last time, but this time let's do it _joyfully_."

Joyful, he was not. Nick was still out, and burning up something terrible. He'd dared to hope for the first couple of minutes that Nick had done a basic pain pass-out, like when you leave a room too quickly and catch your groin on the door handle. But through Nick's increasingly sweaty groans and Matty's discontented growling at enforced yoghurt, Monroe could hear Nick's breathing get worse and worse. He should call Rosie now – actually no, she would say 'get oxygen on him and take his temp'. So he'd do that before he called. He didn't particularly want to be ripped a new asshole for sending the pneumatic Grimm out in 10 degrees after a hippo that wasn't supposed to leave the house.

First oxygen. He needed to get the oxygen. It was downstairs. Rats.

Matty did a spectacular roar in response to a spoonful of unwanted raspberry and Monroe felt it was time to join forces. He nudged Nick gently up the bed, dashed over to Matty, freed him from the booster seat and ponked him in the gap between nick's side and the edge of the bed. "Right, kiddo I've got to pop downstairs. If the hippo gets close, roar."

Matty looked uncertainly at his nemesis and back to Monroe. His expression was so grown up Monroe would have burst out laughing any other time. _Dude, you're bigger. __**You**__ roar at the lady and let me know how you get on. _

"Earn your keep!"

"Urr."

"Convincingly!"

Hilde glared at him as she took the dirty bowls into the kitchenette. "This is rude and unnecessary. I have no intention of harming the Grimm."

She had no intention of leaving the poor guy alone, either. Monroe was halfway back up the stairs, heaving the tank behind him and cussing himself for an idiot for not sending Hilde down to get it herself, when Matty went off on a roaring fit. He turned the corner out of the basement and saw Nick tossing fitfully on the bed, babbling distressedly as Hilde leant over him.

"No, no no… NO! NO!"

"Is just pillows!"

"MOVE!" Monroe hip-checked her, getting his own back from yesterday as she crashed across the room, grabbed the oxygen and put the mask over Nick's face, flicking the dial on with the side of his spare hand. He lifted Nick's head to pull the strap over the back and wiped his hair out of his face with his sleeve. Nick came round suddenly, his eyes wide and unfocussed, and Monroe lightly kept his head still, trying to keep his voice light, clear and distinct. "Buddy, it's me. You're fine. You're safe."

"Wherz… wherzer dangrus hippo?"

"No more Hilde TLC. I promise. You're fine. But you're pretty hot. We need to cool you down some."

"'Kay…" and he was out again, breathing too hard, but looking a little more composed.

Hilde the implacable was back at Monroe's side. "What is wrong with him?"

"Let me see – you get near, and he has a panic attack. Hilde, these events are not coincidental! What were you doing to him?"

"I was fluffing his pillow."

"WELL, DON'T! He's in enough pain already, ok?"

"Rawrr!"

"Ok so maybe he is a little scared of me after the injection. But what _is _wrong with him? I mean the sickness, not the panicky thing."

Monroe suddenly felt really tired again. "I don't know. I guess he didn't have enough time to get rid of the pneumonia."

"No, Rosie treat that. This is something else." She sounded very definite for a not-nurse and Monroe looked at her curiously as she went on. "The antibiotikum, the shot she give, it worked immediately on him as it does with all wesen. He was well this morning. Now he has a different infection in his chest. He needs… I don't know it in English. Antientzündlich."

"Anti-inflammatories. I get it." Monroe considered. Maybe the problem was that Nick _wasn't _wesen, although he must share a degree of biology to be able to see them. God, he hoped they hadn't actually poisoned him… "So you're not a nurse, but you do know a lot of this stuff?"

"I am the chemist," she said simply.

"That explains everything!"

"I have been working on gemischtwesen medicine for twenty years. For people like Matty – you know, half-and-halfs. The Reinen, the 'pure' verrat, they don't like it. They send the hundjager after me."

Monroe stared and went to grab his phone. He could really do with having his fearsome missus back in the house. "What did you do?"

"I kill him."

"Stay back." Great, so he had a Lauffer assassin on his hands. "How did you kill him? Poison?"

"Why does everyone assume this? No, he break into my house! He was armed and I was not so I hit him with the armchair and sit on him."

"God!"

"Yeah, it was awful. There was much… wriggling."

Monroe shook his head to clear his mind's eye of the image of a thrashing, crushed hundjager. Something more concerning had come to mind. Hundjagen hunted in pairs. "Did you see anyone when you ran out earlier?"

"She shrugged. I didn't really notice. I was upset."

"Great. I'm calling Rosalee. Tell her to keep her eyes out on her way back. If you want to be useful, get some cold cloths and the temperature strip. But give them to me. Stay away from Nick. Ok?"

She looked… genuinely wounded. "I wouldn't hurt Nick. He is…. nice to me."

"He _is_ nice. Just be nice back… from a distance. And please shut the back door properly? It's been slamming open all evening. It's like having a twitchy percussionist round the place."

There was another slam, presumably Hilde closing the door, that made Monroe jump as he dialled Rosie's number, and then Hilde returned with the temperature strip. He clapped it on Nick's head, watched the green shift to yellow, then orange and red, sail past 38.5° and didn't actually know whether to wait for Rosie to answer or dial 911.

* * *

"SOMEONE GET THIS CRAZY VIXEN OFF OF ME!"

The remaining queue of Bibers scrabbled not to help as Rosalee kept hold of Maier's jacket lapels and shook him wrathfully. "YOU… STAY…THE…HELL…AWAY…FROM…BURKHARDT!"

"I was being sincere, for God's sake! I _don't_ want anything unfortunate happening to the Grimm! How often do we get one on our side? And stop throwing yourself around like that, you'll have an aneurism."

Maier clapped his hands on her shoulders, bringing her to an abrupt halt, and she let go, feeling vaguely concussed. Talk about embarrassing, losing it enough to try to shake a bear. She climbed off him in a temper and he clambered back up from his half-sprawled butt-on-floor position, looking bemused.

"You said he was sick. I was concerned! I think I was one of the last one or two guys to see him yesterday, and he looked pretty glassy-eyed by then. Mind you, after a pack of dirkfellig…."

"Alright." She got her breath back. The anger just wouldn't leave her alone these days. It was like being in season except she was a little late. "Sorry. It's just… the first actually threatening thing I ever heard you say. It took me by surprise."

"Took _you _by surprise? Jeez Calvert, you've got to get yourself some tranqs. Anyway, what's up with the Grimm?"

"He's recovering from pneumonia. The shots we gave him worked really well, but it'll take a few days for him to get past it properly. Apparently he'd passed out on Eddie a few moments before I left and had to be put back to bed."

Maier frowned. "He's _recovering_ from pneumonia? So he had it yesterday? During the event?"

"Yeah. And then he passed out on us straight afterwards. Look, Monroe and I have shared a lot of guilt overnight for that so, if we could not go there…"

"He was on his feet for over two hours! Extraordinary. Well, it kind of demonstrates what I've always suspected about Grimms. Acquired analgesia. Didn't you get any blood samples?"

"No!"

"Why not?"

"I'm not sticking needles into him while he's asleep because he's my friend, and that would be creepy and weird. I'm going to let him get better, have a much fuller chat about his pain threshold levels, and then, only if he's interested, get some labwork done."

Maier rolled his eyes. "God, you're obstinate. Ok. Do what you want, but you know the drill – speaking as a doctor here, not as a Lauffer – keep him indoors, keep him warm and completely away from any source of infection. The multi-burdock shots are good for acute infection, but they can wipe out the natural immune system for a few days – what?"

Rosalee froze. Nick had helped her get Matty indoors. Matty had been handed to them by Bud and Janie – pretty much full of germs. "I gotta go." Her phone rang, and she answered to Monroe, whose voice exploded out the speaker like a panicky gerbil on helium. She repeated the symptoms back to Maier, who nodded.f

"Fine, just give me the stuff, I can carry on here. Have you got enough spare to take back with you?"

"Yeah." She emptied out as much of her bag as she dared, and ran for the doorway. He caught her up and handed her a yellow vial. "This goes straight into the source of infection. It'll hurt like hell, but work in about ten minutes. If that doesn't work, try 911, but do not mention me as the source of that stuff. It's not exactly… AMA tested."

Rosie took the yellow vial and ran. If the yellow vial didn't work, it wasn't the AMA Maier had to worry about. It was Monroe.


	7. Finale

**And here's the finale. Thanks for all your lovely reviews – I hope this wraps it up well. Chapter 6 got away from me a little, but I hope this brings it back in line.**

Rosalee took the northern Portland ringway at seventy and was neither happy nor surprised to see a squad car pulling in behind her down the slipway. She contemplated trying to outrun, but that would shoot her way past destination and she still had Monroe's panic ringing in her ears. She pulled over, lowered the window and waited. She felt slightly sick. And tired from all the raging. What the hell was wrong with her these days?

Presently, a huge bulk stooped down to the window and blocked out the light. "Lady, this is a 40 zone. There are kids on bikes out her— Miss Calvert? What's up?"

She made his face out of the silhouette and could've cried with relief: Mike. Mike who'd helped her with the distribution lists, the bunting, the gossip-spreading to make yesterday such a success. Mike who would probably draw the line at her leaving him in her dust. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, but I have to go. Burkhardt's really sick."

"Him too, huh? Who'd 've thought it? Just stay here one sec."

"Mike, I can't stay!"

"I'm still a cop, Miss Calvert. Stay just one second." He moved in a maddeningly unhurried way, but was back from his squad car in moments, something big and plastic in his huge hand. "Got a cigarette plug down there somewhere? Good – ok, stick this in. Right, this'll be noisy." He turned the siren on and stuck the light onto her roof. Green floods flashed over her bonnet. Genius.

"Doctor on call?"

"It'll get you through traffic. Don't go knocking over any cyclists. Give the Grimm my regards."

Oh God. Oh bless him. She made the rest of the journey in about five minutes flat, cars weaving dutifully out of her way as she thundered down the last stretch of the I5. She nearly took the car door off in her hurry to get inside and was relieved to see that Monroe'd had the sense to strip Nick almost completely and get him under a cold, wet bed sheet.

She fumbled the snaplock of the vial into the rear cannula on the syringe and was about to just dive in there when she saw Matty on the end of the bed. "Monroe, could you take him out? He doesn't need to see this. My iPad's on the chair in the yard. Find something on YouTube with him. Something loud."

Monroe nodded and carried Matty away. "I think I've got Mahna mahna saved somewhere…do you like Seasame street, little man?"

She waited until the worried little face peeking over Monroe's shoulder was completely out of sight and pulled the sheet back. He was glowing to the point that he'd almost run out of sweat. He grunted softly as she felt for the hottest part and flinched sharply as she found it. "Oh hon, you're in a bad spot. I'm so sorry about this…"

She put her hand on his chest and injected him. She'd expected an involuntary shout, a yell – something – but he just gave a quiet "aa-AH!", dropped his head back over the edge of the pillow and lay there panting, quietly. Ten minutes. She set her watch. Ten minutes – if his temp wasn't down by then, to hell with Maier and his experimental brews.

* * *

Sesame street didn't work – Monroe thought that the barmy scat tune (complete with vaguely lion-esque growly character) would appeal, but Matty was too tense. So they paced out back, in the yard, where the sun was slowly heating the walls and feeding the weeds between the paving stones. In among all the stress of getting the centre money together (and resisting the pressure to do sinister things with it), he'd temporarily lost track of what he'd like to do: which was to have a huge opening party in the yard, followed by hours of solo naked sunbathing. The place was private. And his inner wolf could do with a tan.

His lack of tension helped to settle Matty, who'd quit his bawling and his lip-thrusting and sagged on his shoulder, hiccupping in his ear, whimpering niknik from time to time. Monroe patted his back. Then hauled off at arm's length. And stared.

"Did _you _say niknik? 'cause that's not… my customary name for him, to be honest."

"Niknik." Hic.

"Hot damn! You're tiny! _How_ are you talking?"

"Die Lowen are early maturers," Hilde offered wearily from the doorway. "They can start to be rude at ten months." And then, apropos to nothing: "May I make a phonecall? It is overseas. I will put out some money."

"Knock yourself out," Monroe said absently, still marvelling at the early-speech miracle. He wondered if Bud knew. Actually, it didn't matter if Bud knew or not because one thing you don't do to another guy is rob him of the joy of being the 'first' to hear their kid speak. Pack rules. Still, it would be difficult to keep to himself. Matty wasn't even his, and he felt like telling everyone.

"Niknik is going to be _fine. _Shall we go look?" Nick was flat out, but apparently sleeping peacefully. Rosie's alarm went off and she took his temp. The improvement in her colour, immediately, told him more than the temperature strip ever would. Matty was half-bending out of his arms for a better look. "Want your shotgun seat back? He may appreciate the company."

"Damn," Matty said.

Oops. "Ah, I shouldn't have said that in front of you. Sorry. Not a word to repeat, ok?"

"Dam!"

"Oh, rats." Oh, he was pointing. "Oh, Dam! You want the duplo? Here you go." Monroe emptied the crate in the space between Nick, Matty and the side of the bed and stood back to watch from a distance while Matty started building. From behind, he felt Rosalee's arms wrap around his waist and he'd never been so relieved at such a light, reassuring bit of affection. He turned round and pulled her against him. Her hair was messy, unscented, and wonderful.

"It's been a really…..long week, huh?"

"It's not done yet."

"He'll be fine. Just needs some rest now, probably. I'm so sorry." He just wanted to go lie down with her. Not to do anything, but just be flat with her. "Lesson learnt. When Nick's sick, he's sick."

She looked up at him, puzzled. "None of this is your fault, you know."

"Uh yeah, it is." Just getting it out of the way, he told her about Hilde's break for freedom, Nick's pursuit, his collapse. Rosalee groaned mildly into his shoulder socket, but there was no castigation. No annoyance.

"It probably didn't help, but then, neither did…. Oh never mind. Not our finest hour. Let's move on." She peeped up at him. "Where's Hilde?"

"Making some telephone calls. She said something about giving money for it. By the way, I have to ask, where the hell is she from? What is she? Cause I pretty much called her the worst nurse ever but she just came back at me and said she wasn't one."

Rosalee pulled him down on the cot next to Nick's. "I think she's intended as a bodyguard."

"You…what? For Nick? That's going to go down well." Monroe pictured her skulking around the precinct and following Nick on his jobs. He sensed she would not be a subtle or naturally gifted stalker.

"For me, not Nick." And she told him, everything that Maier had said, his plans for their place, his attempts to foist a resistance worker on them to make the lab deal go through and Monroe felt his blood evaporate in his veins. He'd been angry enough first time she'd mentioned the offer, that the so-called head of the Lauffer chapter (only according to Maier) had even suggested they keep a verrat-magnet facility on a health premises, but the idea of sending them someone who was being hunted because of her… skill set just … He stood up and paced.

"And you told him to stick it up his ass, right?" He finally managed to ask, and she nodded, but didn't seem certain enough for his liking. "You _did_ feed back our general view, that we'd rather stick hot needles in our eyes, etc, yes?"

"Yes!"

"Well thank god! I thought you were about to tell me he'd leant on you."

"I've been having second thoughts. I had time to think about it in the car on the way back."

Monroe sat heavily. "Tell me."

"Can I ask you something? How did he seem, before he ran out after Hilde?" She shot him a crooked smile. "It's a genuine question. I'm not about to mark you out of ten for lunacy or anything."

"He seemed… fine. And I mean proper fine, not 'I'll be fine, splat' fine. Normal. Full of beans, even. That's why I sent him out after her. I thought he'd recovered, and he's a lot faster than me."

"That's what's been nagging at me." Rosie leant back in her chair and scraped her hair into a ponytail with the spare band she always kept round her wrist. "The shots work really well, but they're not painkillers. His chest should've been absolutely murdering him, but he chased down Hilde and brought her back. His pain threshold is ludicrously high. That's handy if he needs to finish a fight, but if he's sick…"

"…Then he doesn't necessarily know about it." Monroe sighed. "Look, I agree that this needs looking into. And that you'll want to keep a pretty close eye on any test results. But it can't be done by us."

"If it keeps him safe, I'm prepared to risk a little danger—"

God, that got right under his skin. "I'm not! Don't you dare turn this into me refusing to turn our lives upside down because I don't care enough about Nick! And it won't keep him safe. The very idea of you needing a bodyguard because you have a Grimm-lab onsite will make him apeshit with stress!"

"Guys," Nick's eyes were closed, his voice quiet, but clear. "Could you go back to the beginning of the argument, just for my benefit, and tell me what the hell's going on?"

Monroe gulped. It was amazing how displeased Nick looked, even half asleep. "When did you wake up?"

"Apparently I'm supposed to be going apeshit about something."

Monroe couldn't see it somehow: shattered and trembling, Nick looked like he'd just been dragged, hypothermic, from the sea. He could barely keep his eyes open. But he needed him to rise to the occasion and not let Rosalee's guilt trip send them all on some insane counter-productive, destructive journey. _Don't let this happen, buddy. I'm counting on you._

* * *

His first thought on waking, even before opening his eyes and seeing that now very familiar ceiling, was that this was getting very old. He heard low, rumbling voices of concern from Monroe and Rosalee, and looked down to see himself supine on the bed, undressed, with a proper bandage round a wrist that was now swelling. He wanted to get up and show that he was fine now, they could stop the vigil and get on with their lives, but the moment he moved a bone-deep ache of fatigue waylaid him and he dropped back on the pillows. He felt, in short, like a complete pill.

"Nick, you're _ill_. You had pneumonia, you had about two hours to recover from that, then got flu. Chasing a Nilpherdine through the streets in the winter probably didn't help."

Nick gazed over at Monroe, who shrugged. So he'd fessed up. Whatever.

Rosie sat next to him, looking fraught. "We need to find out what's made you so powerful."

Nick laughed and immediately wished he hadn't. "Powerful? What….the hell are you on about? What are you _on_? Look at me!"

"Nick, a sub-saharan Nilpherd can run at 30km an hour. You caught up, while sick. That's… unusual. Your body's not sending you pain signals correctly and we need to understand how your body works."

He squeezed his eyes shut as an ache shook him through and wondered where the hell they got the idea that he wasn't feeling any pain. Then remembered as he was walking back with Hilde after her break for the hills – her throw-off comment. "Is this about a lab?"

Rosie told him about Maier's offer, what they could do, how they could evolve medicine for mixed breeds, how Hilde had been installed as chemist-stroke-security. Nick shook his head vigorously and saw Monroe's face drop in relief in the background.

"No way. Not a chance. Not here. I understand what you're saying about gemischt advances, but not here."

"We raised £80,000 dollars yesterday, Nick. Maier's interested in seeing what makes a Grimm stronger, and others apparently agree. We've never had the chance to find out before. We've never wanted to find out before, but now…"

"So all this fundraising's been for a lab that I know nothing about?"

"No! It's for this centre, which you now know everything about. It's something I've wanted to raise with you for days, it's just that you've been… sick." Rosie took a deep breath and Hilde shambled back into the room behind her. She had a big case, he noted. "Look, in the same way you've got the Grimm anthology of wesen, we've got a book of Grimm. There's a lot of information about how to kill a Grimm—"

"Great!" Nick took a sharp breath. "Could you burn it please?"

Monroe looked thoughtful. "Nah, we thought we'd photocopy it and distribute it round the neighbourhood on pamphlets."

"Not helpful, honey! Initially I was dead set against having anything in this place that… distorted the purpose of setting up the centre, but it kind of fits. We've been able to help you. I've been mulling on this, and the simple fact is that we know very little about Grimms. God forbid anything happens to you – anything worse, that is – who comes next? Or if you get shot, stabbed or slashed—"

"Or electrocuted," Hilde offered and looked upset when they all glared at her. "What? Is tidy and increasingly common!"

"Or if you clinically die for a short time and have to be resuscitated, what happens to your powers?"

Nick stared at Rosalee in complete disbelief. "You've been _mulling_ on this? Fucking hell! What do you think about when you're actually worrying?"

"Seriously! We know nothing about Grimms, not really. You have no siblings, no children – if you're brought back, do your powers go to a relative who's already a Grimm, or—"

"Oh man, no!" Monroe paced. "His mom does not need to be any Grimmer, I'm telling you!"

"We care about you, Nick," Rosie finished quietly. "We just want to understand how we stand behind you."

Nick sat up a little and took both her hands. What she needed to understand was that he needed them standing beside him, not behind him. Even better, he could do with upping his game a little and standing beside them. But, feeling shit or not, he wasn't being rolled over on this one. "Listen, you can tell Dr Maier from me that when I'm back on my feet, I'll be paying him a little visit."

Monroe punched the air behind Rosalee.

"And after I've taken his head off and returned it to him inside out, we can talk about blood tests, diagnostics, or whatever. I'm sure this guy has a million places he could stash a lab, but he's not going to push you into keeping it here. You're not becoming a target. Not on my account. Is that clear?"

"Not on my account, either." Hilde pulled on her coat. Rosie frowned.

"Where are you going?"

"You can let it be known that I'm going back to Bayern. I hear your conversation. There is no lab, I am a terrible nurse, and there is nothing for me here."

Rosie frowned. "But your work, the advanced medicine—"

"I am bored to the bone with it. It is dead to me. I did not want any more lab anyway, so I am happy you are making this decision. Everything I know, it is already written down and I am tired of hiding. I know this yesterday, when I ran. That was free, running. I cannot go on another year hiding in basements." She scuffed the floor with her toe. "Being a burden."

Nick got that. But he wasn't close enough to take her hand. He was pleased to see Monroe walk over and take her by the shoulders.

"Look, I don't want you going out there and getting… attacked. I know I was a little… ok, a lot terse with you, but it was the situation. Not you, in particular."

Hilde smiled. "It's ok. You are a kind man and terrible liar. I'm decided. I'm not running anymore. I feel happier for that." And she did, Nick noted, standing taller, eyes brighter.

Rosie bit her lip. "How are you going to stay safe? Where's all your written work?"

"In my bag."

"Honey, all it takes is a couple of verrat on passport control, and you'll be taken into a small room at the airport and never seen again."

"Is better than hiding."

Nick's heart ached for her. And he remembered – the gap in his stash upstairs. It seemed fitting to stow all Hilde's stuff along with his. "There's still space in the cupboard in my room."

"Can I see it?" She followed Rosie up the stairs and they were gone for some time while Monroe took a call out the front of the shop and returned to Nick's bed to say that he could drop Matty back off home.

"Thanks a million, man. Seriously, you've given me my life back."

Nick felt that he hadn't really done anything more than put his foot down. Lying in their bed, living in their pockets – it had to stop. To think that Rosie was prepared to put a bullseye on the building just to get on top of her Grimmoire… God. As soon as he was better, he'd be up and training so hard they didn't even recognise him. The resolution did him some good. He felt a hot flush under the blanket but it didn't really bother him. And as Rosie and Hilde trotted down the stairs, both women's eyes were bright, a little excited even, and Rosie pointed out that a lot of the stuff she needed for some of the chemical mixes she already had. Nick smiled as Hilde thumped over, offering her hand.

"It was very nice to meet the Portland Grimm. I'm glad you have allies. It makes you strong. Stronger than Das Kleine Wahnsinning, even."

"Who?"

"The tiny nutjob. Your aunt."

Nick smiled in spite of himself, keeping his automatic defence of his slightly psychopathic relative to himself for once. He shook her hand and laid back as they said their various goodbyes, but with a final practical note from Rosie. "Where _aren't_ you going?"

"Back to Bayern."

"You didn't like it?"

"Nah. Far too many Dirkfellig. They hog all the best riverside property." And she was off, emerging like an amazon into the daylight. Nick smiled at her retreating back from his limited view and settled back into a light sleep.

* * *

It didn't last. On the edge of his awareness he picked up a stench – high and acrid like a burning cigarette butt. His pulse quickened and he opened his eyes slowly, discreetly in the darkened rest room. The shop door squeaked open and Rosalee moved from the side shelves back behind the counter. A short, wiry, apologetic-looking guy hopped in, trying to walk with his legs crossed and looking acutely uncomfortable.

"Are you open? I'm sorry, there's no sign on the door, I just hoped—"

"It's fine, we're open. How can I help?"

"God this is embarrassing. I need something for…. Bladder stamina. And incidentally, may I borrow your toilet?"

Nick sighed heavily and feigned sleep while under the blanket stretching his legs in case he needed to spring up. That acrid smell – really strong. Hundjager. Rosalee seemed to be keeping calm but there was no way that she was unaware of it.

"Toilet's through there." She pointed through the rest room. "I've got powder you can use to deaden your sensitivity a little, but you'll have to take one drachm now, and then one every four hours. I'll just go get it, and some water from the _kitchen_."

Nick picked up that emphasis loud and clear. She disappeared round the corner, up the corridor, he froze as the Hundjager brushed through the beaded curtain and stood next to his bed. It was a good job his face was still obscured by oxygen mask, really. He didn't have the energy pumping yet for an immediate fight: that would take another moment to get going. He felt bristly fingers against his carotid. His pulse thumped at a convincingly over-rapid pace. The intruder withdrew, clearly deciding he wasn't a threat. But he went after Rosalee.

Nick followed silently, saw the guy lean against the kitchen doorway, talking to her. His tone bright, amiable, grateful. Matter of fact. With clearly no intention of letting Rosie back out of the kitchen.

"So, I see you have some advanced facilities here. Running an ED in your back room?"

"Some need more help than others," Rosie said mildly from round the corner. "Don't disturb him, please. He's had a rough few days."

"So you do the care yourself? You don't have a…specialist?"

Nick slid along the wall as the guy went into the kitchen. God knows what he was actually going to fight him with. Hopefully the two of them could take him down together. He stopped silently in the doorway, breathing noiselessly. Saw the huge, cast-iron frying pan hanging on the hook on the wall to his left.

"We had a specialist," Rosie went on evenly, "But she had a change of heart. She's gone back to Bayern."

"You're lying. But you have no reason to protect the chemist."

"No, I don't, because I fired her, ok? She was a lousy nurse and half-killed my patient."

Nick heaved the pan down, then over his shoulder. Jesus Christ, how did she cook with this? Or, more to the point, how much of a weakling was he these days? His arms, his whole body shook uncontrollably.

"A nurse?" The guy actually laughed and straightened his gun arm. "How stupid do you think I am? I'm going to count to three. One—"

Nick hit him on the back with it as hard as he could manage and, just for the bravado, finished the count for him. "Two, three." Then he dropped the pan and staggered over to the seat by the table, totally wiped out.

* * *

The next few minutes passed in a blur for Rosie: she removed the cleaver tucked into her waistband before she could do herself a nasty with it, reluctantly called 911 under Nick's instructions, and tied up the intruder. It was a pain that he was a cop, sometimes. On the other hand, a good thing: they hadn't killed the guy so Portland PD could tidy him away, rather them having to spend a few wet and chilly hours in the woods with a shovel. Nick wasn't passed out, but he had his head on his forearms on the kitchen table, trying to get his energy back. She thought he might have dozed off until she went to pick up the pan and put it away. His arm shot out like a pole.

"Don't touch – it's evidence."

"Oh yeah, sorry."

"I'm afraid you won't have it back for a while. Sorry about that. You can grab a replacement from my place, for now."

"For what?"

"Uh, cooking?" He lifted his head up, bemused. His colour was a little better, she was glad to note.

"Cooking?" She looked at the weapon and laughed. "Oh no, it's for hitting people with. I don't use that thing on the stove. I'd need a crane just to serve up!"

"Now she tells me."

They both heard the front door go and Monroe jogged down the corridor, Matty-free. "Oh good, you're up, what the fuck happened?" He grabbed her, his eyes wide. "Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm ok. So will he be, once he's back in bed."

"No! No more bed!"

She couldn't really answer that protest with her face crammed into Monroe's chest.

"Thank god you were able to defend yourself."

She prised Monroe away gently, looking forward to his response. "Monny, that was Nick."

His peroxided blonde jaw duly dropped. "You were half-dead an hour ago. You just got up and lamped him? In your condition?"

Nick stood, swaying slightly, and headed for the kettle, flapping his hand at them vaguely. "Enough, enough about my condition, alright? Right, who wants coffee?"

"I'll make it," Rosie insisted, but Nick hung grimly onto the handle, filling it up with fierce determination. "Nick… remember, you don't always know what's good for you…"

"Don't bully me! I can make some damn coffee, ok?"

Monroe advanced on his friend, smiling wickedly. "You want bullying? I'll give you bullying. Up you come—"

"Monroe! Damn it, put me DOWN!"

"RESISTANCE IS USELESS!"

"I've got no clothes on! Put me down!"

"RESISTANCE IS USELESS!"

Rosie followed them into the restroom, Nick struggling like a mad thing as Monny dumped him on the bed and wogeing to discourage escape.

"IN!"

Nick obeyed, pulling the blanket up, pink, irritated, but sitting up stubbornly and finally cracking a smile. "You wait till I'm better, pal, I'm telling you."

"I look forward to it. STAY!"

Rosie wandered up to Nick and sat on the edge of his bed, really, really grateful that he didn't know what was good for him. Or he'd never have come after her. "You're not going to lie down, are you?"

"Nope."

"Fine. There's something I didn't get to do yesterday, it occurs to me."

Nick winced. "Just tell me it doesn't involve a needle."

She wrapped her arms round him and gave him a little squeeze. "Give a Grimm a hug."


End file.
